


Misplaced

by circuit_breaker



Category: Shadowrun: Hong Kong
Genre: Gen, the protagonist doesn't know certain things about Racter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuit_breaker/pseuds/circuit_breaker
Summary: After an accident during a run, the protagonist has doubts about their status as the leader.





	Misplaced

I’ll be honest: I had never imagined myself to be a leader, let alone a leader to a group of criminals. Therefore, whenever something bad happened, my first thought was: _they picked the wrong person._

That’s what happened while we were on a run in the sewers. I had terribly underestimated the group of thugs we had been sent to eliminate. They had a tank – yes, a _motherfucking_ tank – down there, and apparently, they knew how to use it.

One ka- ** _boom_** , and there went Racter’s legs.

Yep, Racter’s legs.

I had never cursed so much in my entire life.

I would’ve probably kept standing and cursing if Duncan hadn't pulled me into a hiding spot.

“Stop yelling!” he said from between clenched teeth. “We need to get out of here – quickly.”

“But Racter–“

“Forget him! There is no way he survived that blast, and even if he did, we wouldn’t get him back to Heoi in time.”

“Actually…” Gobbet’s voice came before she hopped to join us. She had Racter’s upper body with her. “This guy isn’t certainly kicking, but he is very much alive.”

“So it would seem”, the rigger replied and sighed. I can’t describe how happy I was to hear his voice, even though it was weary.

Duncan watched with raised eyebrows how Racter took a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pockets.

“You are alive and – just smoking at a situation like this?” Duncan asked. Then, it occurred to him: “Where is even your blood?”

“This is not a time for a discussion. Gun Show, I need your assistance with my plan”, Racter said, lighting up a cigarette. “Koschei is hiding behind the tank, ready for a surprise attack. His chainsaws could potentially be able to tear the surface a bit, just enough for a grenade to fit in. You are excellent with throwing explosives, correct?”

Duncan seemed to regather his concentration.

“You can count me in”, he replied. “Let’s hope that this works…”

They let the tank come closer. Then, Koschei jumped onto the tank; and with a whirr of chainsaws, he assaulted the vehicle. The drivers of the tank became confused. While they searched for Koschei, Duncan stood up and threw a grenade (Gobbet yelled like a cheerleader when Duncan did so).

There was an explosion. Interestingly, the tank seemed to be fine from the outside; however, we knew that there was fire and mutilated flesh inside. The tank stopped moving, and Koschei came scuttling to us.

“All the thugs should be gone now”, I estimated. “Great work. Racter, would you summarize your current condition? We must tend to severe injuries before moving.”

“To do that properly, I’d need to disable settings that numb sensations of pain. I might fall unconscious at that point, which would make Koschei dormant. Therefore, I’ll just tell you that my whole lower body is made of artificial parts”, Racter said. There it was, the explanation. _Cyberware_. I had suspected as much based on the lack of blood. Still, it felt bizarre to think how much cyberware was incorporated into Racter's form.

Meanwhile I contemplated that new piece of information, Gobbet crouched next to Racter and made a quick analysis. No biological damage that needed immediate attention.

I nodded.

“Very well. Let’s go. Jomo is waiting. Racter – hopefully, you do not mind that I’ll carry you”, I said. He dropped the smoke when I lifted him up: My arms basically hugging him around his sides, his hands taking a hold of my neck. His head rested against my shoulder.

He didn’t speak when we approached the helicopter. Once we got there, though, Koschei fell down with loud metallic clangs. Racter was out cold. I laid him down, to notice that he was twitching and breathing in a way that indicated pain.

“Well, wow, it’s pretty disturbing to look at half a guy writhing like that. I could check whether I could calm him down, but I can’t do anything to the cybernetic damage. You’ll need Ambrose for that”, Gobbet said and proceeded to do so. Duncan watched, arms crossed, looking serious.

“How can you two be like that?” he asked.

“Like – what?” I asked.

“So – _indifferent_. This guy just confessed being half a machine… At least half, as it might be that he is, in fact, a complete robot. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised anymore”, he stated.

“How? Well, Gun Show, I’ve known all this time”, Gobbet said.

“Wait… You have known this for a longer time?” I asked. “Did he tell you that?”

Gobbet’s fingers combed Racter’s hair. The rigger seemed to relax slightly.

“No. He probably thought that no-one would notice, but this guy has a unique aura around him. I rarely see anyone with such a low level of essence”, she explained. “Moreover! Madness bit his toes and got aching teeth as a result. That was enough evidence for me.”

“… A low level, you said? Does that mean some or none?” Duncan asked.

“Some. So, no, Gun Show, he isn’t a robot.”

Duncan’s shoulders slumped down an inch. It was a mystery whether he considered that piece of information a relief or a great disappointment.

“What about you, then? Did you also know somehow?” he asked me.

He probably expected that Racter had told me, considering how many times I had visited his place. That wasn’t the case, however. I hadn’t got the slightest clue about his condition, other than that he did have a strange atmosphere floating around him.

For some reason, his cyberware didn't bother me too much. I was interested how he had ended like that – whether he had gone through some drastic accident or potentially switched his body parts willingly (taking into account his enthusiasm towards post-humanism, I wouldn’t have dropped out the latter possibility).

Besides mere curiosity, I was – glad. Had Racter’s biological limbs blown up, he wouldn’t have survived.

Mostly, my reactions were positive or neutral, all in all. There was only one thing that concerned me… My skills as a leader. The whole situation got out of my control, and we survived thanks to Racter and Duncan cooperating.

“… No, I didn’t know. My reactions may seem mild because there’s a lot going inside my head”, I merely replied. Duncan shrugged.

 

* * *

 

When we arrived in Heoi, Duncan and Gobbet took Koschei to the ship. I, in turn, asked that Jomo would leave me and Racter close to Ambrose’s clinic. Carrying him around would’ve been quite heavy, and I assumed that he wouldn’t have liked everyone seeing him in such a state.

Chrome Alley was silent, save for the usual humming of the machines. Ambrose was unpacking a box of medical equipment when we came in.

“Hello. How can I help you?” he greeted before looking at our way. I didn’t have enough time to reply anything, as he turned around quite soon after that.

“Well. Your run didn’t go so smoothly this time, it seems. You can place Racter on the operating table, and I will see what I can do.”

Ambrose knew almost everyone around Heoi, so it didn’t surprise me that he was able to call Racter by his name.

“What happened?” Ambrose asked.

“A tank blew his legs. Gobbet checked his health and said that there shouldn’t be other damages”, I told him.

“All right. I trust that Gobbet analyzed the situation correctly, but I’ll investigate the matter myself. You may leave him into my care and return later in the morning. This might take a while.”

 

* * *

 

I used the time by reporting to Kindly Cheng. She was pleased to hear that the rioting thugs were out of her way.

“It’s also a bonus that I do not have to seek another renter for Racter’s space”, she added. The content of her words was only masked in a positive light; it was obvious that she meant her remark to be a stinging needle.

I admit that it was effective at that. Probably because I was already blaming myself for what had happened.

Even though time seemed slow, morning came in the end. I returned to Chrome Alley with replacement clothing, just in case Racter needed those.

Ambrose was reading a book. The front cover had words in a language that I didn’t recognize; the images gave me a vibe that it was about brains of some kind. He noticed me and closed the book.

“Where is Racter?” I asked, looking at an empty operating table.

“I moved him to another table, over there. Behind the curtains, I mean”, Ambrose nodded to show the direction.

I went and swept the fabric out of my way.

Racter was lying in a peaceful manner, wearing a simple hospital gown. His feet were bare for the view: metallic, visible joints. I couldn’t help but stare at them.

“His condition is stable. I’m merely monitoring him until he wakes up… A normal procedure when dealing with certain sedatives and cyberware”, Ambrose explained. “Hopefully, you do not mind waiting for a moment. This shouldn’t take long.”

“I don’t mind that…” I trailed. “Ambrose. How much cyberware does he have?”

“As a doctor, I shouldn’t reveal specifics about my patients – not even to their team leaders”, Ambrose replied. I couldn’t fight off the audible sigh which escaped my lungs.

“Confidentiality, huh. Okay – I know that I wouldn’t be able to pressure you to tell, and I respect you enough to not attempt something like that.”

“That is much appreciated”, Ambrose said lightly. “May I ask you this: are you inquiring that information because his condition makes you feel uneasy?”

“No, it’s not that”, I replied. “I’m just… Curious?”

Ambrose nodded.

“Good. As a person whose body has gone through a lot, I can say that there are many who would be disturbed. It’s a pleasure to see someone who isn’t”, he said. “ _However_. I’ll say in advance that I’m not scolding you. I’m merely giving you advice. You see, mere curiosity can be impolite as well, and that’s another thing which survivors face often. Our bodies carry shadows of stories everywhere we go. That doesn’t make our pasts or anatomy public property.”

Ambrose seemed serious when he spoke. I could sense that this topic arose feelings within him.

“… I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that”, I replied after a moment of silence.

“It’s okay”, Ambrose said. Then, he tilted his head and looked past me. “Hmmm. He is waking up.”

I looked back at Racter and saw him twitching slightly. His eyes opened, and he used his arms to sit up. Eventually, he saw me and Ambrose. He tried to speak, but his voice was too dry. One of Ambrose's mechanic hands offered him a glass of water. It was interesting to look at the enormous hand holding such a fragile item. No-one could deny that Ambrose was an expert at handling his equipment.

“Where is Koschei?” Racter asked more clearly after drinking some water.

“Back at the ship. You will see him soon”, I told him, and he seemed to relax. His focus turned to his clothes and the artificial parts underneath. Without a warning, he lifted the hems, to inspect the cyberware with his eyes.

I should’ve probably turned my head away, but as he hadn’t requested me to do so, I kept staring. Racter tested bending his legs and long toes.

I didn’t know much about the technical aspects of cyberware; I was aware of the essence loss, too. Even so, I found strange elegance about his limbs.

“Quality material”, Racter nodded. “You have a good taste as usual, Ambrose. A shame that I didn’t see your arms at work, though. I would appreciate to be a spectator of your work someday.”

“The pleasure is mine. Perhaps you will gain such an opportunity at some point”, Ambrose said. “I will send you a virtual bill later… Hmm, perhaps you shouldn’t–“

Racter got off the table and tried to stand up, but he ended up taking support from a nearby desk.

“… You will need to take things easy for a while still. You have sedatives in your system”, Ambrose finished.

“Am I free to go to the ship, however?” Racter asked. Clearly, he desired to be united with Koschei as soon as possible.

Ambrose pondered.

“Yes, assuming that someone will look after you. Your home is close, so you can simply come back if there are any issues.”

“I don’t have much to do today, anyway. I can keep an eye on him. As for the bill, you can send it to me”, I said. After that, I remembered the clothes in my hands. “Oh, right. Racter, I brought you clothes. You wouldn’t most likely want to go waltzing around in your current attire, after all. I’ll just place them here and – wait outside. Take your time.”

And so, I closed the curtains. Even though I would’ve been interested to see more, Ambrose’s words hadn’t gone completely wasted; I needed to practice considerateness.

I discussed with Ambrose while waiting, but I could notice that Racter proceeded with his task with clumsiness. His current condition made certain actions harder to do than normally. He didn’t ask me nor Ambrose to assist him, though, and he managed to clothe himself completely in the end.

He did need help with walking when he was ready. I lifted his arm around my shoulders and kept him in place by holding his side.

We thanked Ambrose and left.

 

* * *

 

“No. He said that you will need to be monitored”, I stated with an emphasis. When we had gotten back home, Racter had insisted that I’d leave him downstairs. His facial gestures rarely gave much away, but he did seem irritated this time. “You will rest in my room. Koschei can tag along, though.”

That last sentence calmed him down somewhat. The drone hopped up like a Jack-in-the-box when the door was lifted, and he followed us into my quarters. I sat Racter down against the wall and went to prepare a bed for him.

“… Is it all right if I smoke?” he asked.

“… Yeah, go ahead.”

He did proceed to light a cigarette, but as he did so, he asked, in a voice that felt colder than usual:

“Do you feel pity for me?”

I stopped my tasks.

“What – _no_. Why?”

“I could understand that you would promise to look after me – but paying my bills? Letting me smoke in your room even though you have made it clear that you hate the smell?” he elaborated and breathed out fume. “I saw that you kept looking at my legs at Chrome Alley. I ask again: do you pity me for having this much cyberware in my vessel?”

I realized how unusually soft I had been to him.

“No. I admit that those actions may seem to come out of pity, but that’s not it”, I said. “It’s that I… Well. I blame myself for letting this happen. A good leader wouldn’t get their teammates blown up like that, yet here we are. I didn’t even come up with the plan that saved our skins.” I took a pause. “Why did others pick me as the leader? Why not you, for instance?”

Racter’s expression turned into a bizarre mixture of being humored and annoyed.

“Self-pity it is, then, my friend?” he asked and shook his head softly. “I can tell you straight away that there is no such thing as a perfect leader. Everyone makes mistakes. Team members aren’t mindless pawns of the leader, either, so they hold part of the responsibility. We, as a team, create strategy together, just like a pack of exquisite drones: there may be an alpha, but roles need to be flexible in order to reach the optimal performance. As for why you and not someone else: You might not notice it yourself, but you possess many traits needed for managing a team. You are genuinely interested in others and keep in touch with them. You try to find compromises. I’ve also witnessed you persuading others successfully, many times. Our team consists of very different individuals. How do we stick together? – well, because of you. You act as the glue that keeps us working together. Trust me when I say that you are our best pick.”

I sighed and rubbed my temples.

“Whatever you say”, I finally replied, not knowing what to say. Normally, I would’ve been able to come up with some commentary; but I was far too tired to think smoothly. Ridiculous, considering that Racter should've been the one to be too tired for such a discussion. I finished Racter’s place and lifted him there.

Koschei sneaked underneath the bed. It was a relief that I had planned to sleep on the upper bunk this time.

“Sleep well. And think of my words”, Racter said when I climbed up to rest. As though I needed a reminder to consider what he had just said.

Me – a leader? I wasn't still entirely convinced, but I admit that his words did have a slight effect on my self-confidence.

I closed my eyes, feeling a less heavy weight on my shoulders; and eventually drifted asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> In case someone wonders about the title: misplaced refers to misplaced curiosity/disgust/pity/etc., as well as the protagonist feeling like they are placed into the wrong role. It's bothersome to come up with names.


End file.
